


When the Clock Strikes Midnight and Time Stands Still

by Actual_Writing_Trashcan



Series: Colossus Hyperfixation Collection [31]
Category: Deadpool (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Multi, Not a lot though, and you don't get hungover this time!, but you do cry, but you know what isn't, hhahahahaha my life is a mess, so there's that, some nice moderate angst to start the new year off right, talking about relationships and the future, the author edited this after a night of no sleep at 8 am, this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-10-04 19:43:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17310671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Actual_Writing_Trashcan/pseuds/Actual_Writing_Trashcan
Summary: You and Piotr ring in the New Year together --and some fears from the past come back to haunt you.(Set after "Moving In" and "I'm Not as Think as You Drunk I Am.")[All warnings in the tags.]





	When the Clock Strikes Midnight and Time Stands Still

**Author's Note:**

> I almost cried while writing this.
> 
> Which probably means you'll cry while reading this.
> 
> Sorry.

“Somebody pinch me, I’m dreaming.”

You roll your eyes and laugh. “You’re the one that asked for this. You were there when Xavier approved it.”

It’s the end of the year, and you’re helping set up for what promises to be an  _epic_  New Year’s party.

And, unlike last year, all of the students are out on a winter break trip or with their families, which means it’s just adults this year.

Which, in turn, means that booze is allowed.

You aren’t looking to repeat your basement drinking disaster --and the hangover that had followed the next morning--but you are excited to party without having a bunch of kids around.

Next to you, Piotr huffs, seemingly less cheery than you are as he wipes down the kitchen counters. “This is still supposed to be controlled event, Wade.”

“Yeah, yeah,  _I know_. But we can actually drink booze! Hey, do you think I can trick Scott into a shot drinking contest?”

You wrap your arms around your boyfriend’s thick waist when he sighs through his nose. “Relax, babe. It’s gonna be fine. Besides, who knows? You might even have fun.”

The corner of his mouth turns up, but you suspect it’s more for you and less for the celebration this evening. “Forgive me if I am skeptical,  _moya lyubov’_. I am not ‘party person.’”

“No one’s asking you to be, Pete.” You press a kiss against his side. “Just try not to ruin the evening for yourself before it even starts, is all.”

 

* * *

 

The final seconds between old year and the new find you in Piotr’s arms, smiling while everyone else talks around you.

He smiles down at you while the crowd in Times Square on the TV counts down. “I think this is happened before.”

You grin back up at him and place your palm on the back of his neck, tugging him down. “Sometimes life lets you repeat the best things.”

The ball drops, the calendar rolls over, and you and Piotr herald the New Year with a sweet, soft kiss. The sound of fireworks are audible on TV, picked up by one of the boom mics no doubt--

And then the sound of fireworks and screaming are all too audible outside. “Shitfuck!”

You can’t help but chuckle when Piotr sighs and mutters something about Wade under his breath and smooth out his furrowed brow with the pad of your thumb. “Relax. He can’t actually kill himself. Besides--” you nod over to Nathan, who’s already walking out the back door with a fire extinguisher in hand “--someone’s already got it covered.”

Piotr relaxes, just a little, and kisses the top of your head before hugging you against his chest. “Happy New Year,  _myshka_.”

“Happy New Year, Piotr.”

 

* * *

 

Once Nate puts Wade --and the bush he’d accidentally blown up--out, the party swings into full gear.

Wade, Nate, and Logan are all sipping at beers --well, Nate and Logan are sipping, Wade is chugging because he can--while they watch the twenty-somethings play a game of beer pong. Jean and Neena are stationed off to the side, sipping at glasses of wine, considering Neena’s been banned from playing to prevent one of the teams from having a clear advantage.

You bounce between the groups, bottle of hard soda --that you are  _slowly_  nursing, at Piotr’s worried insistence.

Piotr, however, isn’t really bouncing between groups. Or hanging out with anyone. He’s simply watching everything, holding a glass of vodka --ever the stereotypical Russian.

You sidle up next to him, nuzzling his side. “Hey, babe. You alright?”

He hums an affirmative and sets his glass on a side table so he can wrap an arm around you. “ _Da_. I am just not one for parties.”

You tilt your head up at him. “Wanna head up to our room? It’s not like we have to stay here if we don’t want to.”

“I would not want to leave everyone else--”

“Babe, everyone here’s an adult, and Nate’s on Wade duty. You don’t have to chaperone anyone.”

He relents with a sigh and an easy smile. “If you’d like.”

You smooth your hand down his back --and squeeze his ass playfully. “Oh, I would.” You grin cheekily at him and set your glass next to his. “Race you upstairs?”

He smirks down at you. “Do you really think you can win?”

“I like my odds.” You dart away from him and scamper down the hall and out the front door.

It’s bitterly cold outside and snowing softly, but you ignore the chill --and Piotr’s confused calls of your name as you lift yourself off the ground and fly towards the balcony outside your shared room.

Piotr belly-laughs when he realizes what you’re up to. “Really?  _Really_?”

“The shortest path between two points is a straight line!” you shout down at him. “Have fun losing!”

 

* * *

 

In hindsight, though, you probably should’ve put on some shoes before darting outside. A decent layer of snow’s already collected on the balcony, and it soaks into your socks while you fumble with the door. You practically tumble into the room as soon as you get the door open, stripping your sopping socks and clambering onto the bed so you can tuck your frigid feet into the comforter.

Piotr opens the door and turns on the light not a couple moment later, chuckling at the sight of you. “Pleased with yourself?”

“ _No_. My feet are freezing. I think my toes are gonna fall off!”

He chuckles again and closes --and latches--the balcony door before retrieving a towel from the bathroom. “Well. We cannot have that.”

You sit back against a pillow as he dries your feet off and starts warming them with his hands. You smile --mostly to yourself--and marvel, again, at how you managed to land such a wonderful man.

You’ve had an amazing year of it with Piotr --an amazing couple of years, actually. You never thought you’d feel so loved, never thought you’d have someone that coaxed the best of out of you while weather your worsts in equal measure.

It seems like a miracle, considering that, when you first arrived at Xavier’s, you’d been little more than a ball of nervous rage and smart-ass comments.

_What did he see in me?_  you ponder as he moves from rubbing your feet to massaging one of your calves.  _Fuck, I was such a terror back then. What did he see in me that made him go ‘yeah, that one?’_

Though, considering that he’s dealt with Wade, there probably much about you that he hadn’t seen in some way, shape, or form before.

And now...

Things are good. You’ve got Piotr, friends, a little family to call your own, and a sense of purpose. A sense of identity.

And yet...

As much as things have changed, they feel like they haven’t. You feel like time has barely passed since you’ve arrived at Xavier’s.

As much as you are better, you aren’t. Sure, you’re off the mutation repression serum and aren’t having episodes on a regular basis, but no one can figure out what’s wrong with you --and, until someone can, you can’t really move forward with your treatment.

And until you move forward with your treatment...

_How is the future supposed to come when the present keeps standing still?_  You can’t --don’t want to--press into the future with Piotr --marriage, a home, kids--without some sort of answer to what’s wrong with you, but if that answer never comes, if no one can ever figure out why you keep hallucinating during your episodes, why your traumatic memories manifest clear as day--

Piotr’s hand are warm and gentle on your face, wiping away tears you hadn’t even realized were falling. “ _Myshka_? What is it, what’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

You shake your head and press yourself against his chest, shoulders shake as muffled cries force their way out of you.

Piotr wraps his arms around you without prompting, kissing the top of your head while he murmurs various comforts in your ear. “ _Tische, tische_. Deep breaths,  _lyublyu_. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I’m not --I’m not getting b-better,” you gasp out between sobs.

His lips are soft against your forehead. “ _Nyet_. You have come so far in past couple years. I am so proud of you.”

You shake your head and sit back. “No. I’m  _not_. I --no one knows what’s wrong with me!”

“It takes time,” he says, smoothing your hair away from your face.

“But... but what if...” Your stomach churns, and you opt to stare at the comforter. “Maybe... maybe you should find--”

“ _Nyet_.” Piotr’s hands cup your face and he --gently--tips your head up so he can kiss you. “Do not even finish that thought.  _I_  am not going  _anywhere_.”

“Piotr--”

“Y/N. I knew what I was signing up for when I told you I loved you. I have no expectations about how things are going to go or how your recovery will look. All I want is to be by your side while you go through it.”

“But what about getting married? Or having kids? Would you honestly trust me to raise kids if we don’t know what’s wrong with me?”

He kisses your cheek softly. “There are many people in this world who do all of that without having full diagnosis. If you told me you wanted to get married without diagnosis, I would ask you then and there.”

You sniff and lay your head against his shoulder. “Really?”

“ _Da_. You are love of my love, and I want nothing more than to spend it with you.”

“But I don’t--”

He rubs his hand up and down your back as you start crying again. “I already have my life with you, married or not. A ring, a wedding, it is all icing on cake. Do I want it?  _Da_. Do I need it?  _Nyet_. I don’t care what our future looks like together, as long as it has  _us_. As long as we are  _happy_  and  _healthy_  and  _safe_. Marriage does not change that.”

“And what about kids?”

He kisses your forehead. “Many couples cannot have children, for one reason or other. If that is us, then that is us.”

You sniffle and look at him with watery eyes. “But you want kids.”

He smiles, eyes just as misty as yours. “ _Da_. I do. And I know you do as well. But if you do not feel safe having them --raising them--then we won’t. That would not be fair to them, and it would not be fair to you.”

You let out a choked sob and tuck you head against the crook of his neck. “You deserve better than what I can give you.”

He takes one of your hands and places it over his heart before pressing a gentle kiss against your ear.. “But all I want is  _you_.”

You’re not sure what the new year holds for you. You’re not sure what the future holds at all, or if any of the dreams you’ve concocted in your mind are even attainable.

But you’ve got Piotr by your side. And you know that, with him, you can get through whatever life throws at you.

_Bring it on, new year._


End file.
